One of Them
by thevaaner
Summary: Getting through the physical was probably the most difficult for a woman in disguise to endure; obviously a woman couldn't just walk in to a doctors' office and get your imaginary testes felt up for a cough test. Thankfully, when ones' good friend is doctor, anything is possible. R&R.
1. Prologue

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey guys so this story has been assaulting my brain ever since I've read a couple of other people's OC stories and I thought hey why not try my hand at it? Anyway this story has been beta'd by the amazing bayumlikedayum; without her this story would be a failure!**

**EDIT 8/19/12: REPOST TO FIX SOME NAME ISSUES  
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Posing as a man to be accepted into the newest combat oriented group was harder than anyone could have anticipated. Getting through the physical was probably the most difficult for a woman in disguise to endure; obviously a woman couldn't just walk in to a doctors' office and get your imaginary testes felt up for a cough test. Thankfully, when ones' good friend is doctor, anything is possible; a falsified test and a written note and I was on my way to basic. But I'm getting ahead of myself; let me start from the beginning.

-oOo-

The day was December 8th 1941 when the United States joined the war in Europe and in the Pacific. The Japanese decided that the Americans were interfering with plans in Southeast Asia. President Roosevelt launched a full scale attack in response on April 18th 1942 that would soon be called the Doolittle Raid. Since then, close to every eligible man was being sent off to boot camp to either fight against Adolf Hitler and his Nazis or Emperor Shōwa and his Japs.

I found myself envying my older and younger brothers for being able to fight for their country; my older brother Gerald went off and joined the Navy and was fighting in the Pacific, as my younger brother Timothy joined the Air Force and was currently fighting in Europe. Being born a woman left me with little choice of my future. Growing up, I had always been the athletic girl who would rather rough house in the mud with all the boys than playing with Raggedy Anne dolls or play house with the girls. I was the one all the guys got along with, the one who was always picked first in sports, and the one never caught dead in a skirt or dress.

When my brothers went off to fight, I wanted to pack up my bags and join them. If women were allowed to fight, you could bet I would have been the first to sign up. Unfortunately, I was stuck back in good ol' Hell's Kitchen, New York. I was born on December 24th in 1921 and given the name Samantha Elizabeth Griffin; the girl with the man's knowledge, that's what all the women would say when they had talked to me for five seconds. I really am not sure what they were expecting; they asked me questions I knew and I answered them. On most days, I would just hang out in back of my father's gun shop, fiddling around with the firearms that were back there for repairs or cleaning. My mother wasn't impressed; she was determined to have me married off to the top suitor.

One day, I found a flyer tacked to a billboard inside Pop's shop saying that the military was recruiting men for the Airborne; at that moment, I knew my time for waiting was over. I was going to do whatever it took to get into the Army and fight for my country.

-oOo-

"C'mon, Chris! You totally owe me from that one time." I begged, holding the paratroopers flyer in my hand. I had just showed it to him. Chris, who was practically my best friend, was a licensed doctor. I knew how the Army registration worked; I had watched my brothers enlist and I knew the fine print of enlisting. There had to be a physical examination but it didn't have to be done by an Army doctor. You could bring a slip of paper signed by a practicing doctor and not have to take the physical examination done by the Army doctors.

"Sam, helping me get a date with Marissa doesn't mount up to doing this! You're asking me to forge a letter clearing you for basic training. I could lose my job! You could lose your life!"

"You know I can do this. I know more about guns than any of those guys put together!"

"Yes, I know that but what about the physical aspect? Or have you forgotten that you're going to have to run miles and do dozens of push ups? If you want to act like a man you're going to have to things like a man."

"I'll be able to do all that and you know I can!"

"Samantha Elizabeth Griffin! No! That's my final answer so stop asking!"

-oOo-

As the weeks went by, I found myself constantly running to increase my stamina and speed for when Chris would finally give into my constant begging and write me a note so I could finally go off and fight for my country. He constantly put his foot down and ignored my pleas for him to reconsider. But I knew he could only say no for so long.

Both sides of the war were getting worse as time went on; I was constantly keeping tabs on the news on both the radio and in the newspaper. Dinners with my mother and father were silent affairs because we all had thoughts of Gerald and Tim on our mind. Mother would constantly leave in tears after something Pops would say about them doing the family proud or something along the same lines. It made me wonder how they would take it if I were somehow able to join the paratroopers.

Mother would probably keel over from dehydration because of all of her crying over her precious baby girl being surrounded by big bad men and the constant thought of me being found out and being put up to a wall and shot. I would take that chance if it meant that I could fight for my country.

One night, it seemed as though my prayers were answered; during yet another silent supper, there was a knock on our door. My father wiped his mouth with his napkin, rose from his seat at the head of table and went to open the apartment door. The muffled voices drew my curiosity. A few moments later, my father and Chris walked into the kitchen. Chris looked suspiciously nervous for just a regular talk.

"Samantha, your friend says he has to tell you something that cannot wait until we are finished with our meal." My father said, sitting back down into his chair and picking up his fork and knife. "Well, don't just sit there; go talk to him so we can finish our supper."

I slowly stood up from my chair, wiping my mouth and staring at Chris in confusion. He gestured to the balcony with his head, sliding the door open and allowing me through, following closely behind me. He sighed loudly once the door was closed again and leaned against the balcony railing, folding his arms across his chest and avoiding my eyes.

"If you just came over to lean on my balcony, I'm pretty sure you have your own to do that." I joked, joining him at the railing.

"Why?" he said looking dead straight into my eyes.

"How am I supposed to know your reasons for leaning on my balcony?"

"No, I mean –" He took a deep breath through his nose, almost as though I were trying his patience but I somehow knew it was to calm the nervousness fluttering in his stomach. I felt my hopes begin to rise but I tried to push them down; it wouldn't do to get excited for nothing. "Why do you want join the army so badly?"

Well. That's an easy question.

"I want to serve my country."

"You could serve our country like any other woman does, Sam."

"I'd rather not serve my country by taking care of injured men who'll just grab my ass. I'd rather actually _do_ something."

He looked away and sighed again before one of his hands made its' way into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small pink paper. He looked at it for a moment before slowly holding it out to me.

"We're even."

I went to grab it but stopped in my tracks.

"What?"

He looked me dead in the eye and said, "After this, we are even for all the things you did for me back from when we were kids till now."

I grabbed the pink slip of paper and slowly opened it, slightly afraid of what I would find written inside.

There written in black ink in Chris's sloppy doctor handwriting was his consent that Sam Joseph Griffin was fit for active duty.

"Chris." I whispered in disbelief, not believing what was in my shaking hands. I looked him in the eyes with tears of gratitude. "I don't know what to say."

He pulled me into a hug and whispered into my ear. "You say thank you and promise me you'll come back in one piece."

I pulled away from the hug.

"You know I can't promise that." I replied, my eyes overwhelmed with the onslaught of tears.

"Well, you better try your hardest to make it happen. I don't want to be the one facing your mother's wrath when she finds out I was the one who made it possible for you to go get yourself killed," he joked with a shaky smile as though he were trying to hide the emotion of what he had agreed to. I laughed a choking sort of laugh and threw my arms around him again.

This was it. I was going. I was really going.

-oOo-

In a sense, the easy part was done. Now I had to somehow come up with a believable story as to why my long raven locks had been chopped off. Chris had suggested that I had been mugged and the criminal only wanted my hair for some odd reason. The look I gave him made him regret suggesting such a loony idea. Chris and I were sitting in a booth inside _Marvin's Malt Shop_ when genius or lunacy finally struck.

_._"Its no use, there's no story that is believable of why my hair has been chopped off that they would buy." I whined blowing an enormous bubble from the bubblegum I was chewing.

Suddenly, a devilish look took over Chris's handsome visage. It was as though a lightbulb had just gone off inside his brain.

"Or you accidentally blow a bubble so big, it exploded into your hair - making you cut it. Your mother will be so furious that you didn't listen to her warnings about blowing bubbles that she won't question why you had cut your hair."

I jumped up in glee and grabbed my jacket, heading for the door. Chris quickly gulped down the remainder of his soda and chased after me.

-oOo-

"Okay, so you're one hundred percent sure you don't want a professional doing this?" Chris inquired, nervously holding a pair of scissors in his hand.

"And where would I go where no questions would be asked? No sane person of that trade would agree to cut a woman's hair as short as I want it."

"Fine, fine..." He blew out a shaky breath. I had the strangest feeling that he was squeezing his eyes shut as the scissors approached the back of my head, opening and embracing a single lock of my hair before it snipped cleanly and precisely, the single piece of my hair falling lazily to the ground.

"Chris. You're going to have to cut a lot more than that," I told him, trying to contain my laughter.

"Shut up. Slow and steady does a better job."

"If you keep going as slow as you're going, we're going to be here this time next year."

He didn't say anything else after that; his hands ran through my hair once before he fell to chopping off small snippets of hair and, for a few minutes, all you could hear was the sound of the scissors. Gradually, Chris' muscles relaxed until the scissors were practically flying through my decreasing locks. I could feel my head becoming lighter and lighter and I became more and more giddy at the thought of losing all of the cumbersome hair that my mother had so gloried in.

Finally, Chris stepped back and sighed a sigh of great victory.

"If it needs any more touching up, I sure as hell am not doing it. You can get another one of your minions to do it."

I stood up to look in the mirror and he practically threw the scissors at me in his haste to get out of the room before I turned around and he saw the destruction he had done.

It was done.

The next day, I found myself outside of a volunteering booth, holding the pink slip of paper in my hand and staring down at it nervously. This was it. There was no going back after this.

I took the first step, joining the line of hopefuls that were waiting for their turn in front of a man sitting at a table with a clipboard and a pencil.

"Next!"

Before I even knew it, it was my turn in front of the man. He asked for my name. I gave my alias numbly. After that, it was simply a blur. I was waiting for someone to halt in the middle of what they were doing, point at me with an accusing finger, and yell, "STOP! STOP! That's no man!" But nothing of the sort happened. Just the opposite, really. I gave the man my information and the pink slip of paper. He looked at it with the sort of detachment that a man earns after looking at slips of paper all day long and filled out the information, stamped the paper 1A and handed the paper to me.

"Next!"

I was left standing there in shock. It was working. This was working.

I moved on to the next line, waiting to talk to the man that would officially swear me in, and then waited to talk to the next man after that, the man would tell me where I needed to be and when I needed to be there to be shipped off to basic training, excitement stirring in my belly.

It was working.

I was going off to war.

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**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay How did you guys like the prologue? Be honest now; I want to know your thoughts as they mean a lot to me. **

**On to a very important note; chapter update WILL vary seeing as some chapters are already written and some of them aren't, so I need you guys to be very patient with me because I will be trying my hardest to write us the chapters as fast I can so you guys can enjoy them! **

_**Read it. Favourite it. Alert it. Review it.**_


	2. Currahee Part One

**Yaaaay second chapter! **

**_Guest: I will try and do them justice!_**

_**Ames: I know right there isn't enough Malarkey to go around on this site! But know we can add one more to the list.**  
_

_****_**Hopefully you guys enjoy this chapter has much as I enjoyed writing it! **

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The silence in Chris's black Ford Coupe was tense as we simply sat there, parked at the New York Railroad station. He was staring out the drivers' side window and I, not knowing where else to look, gazed out the windshield.

I knew he didn't want me to go but I also knew that he knew there was nothing he could do or say that would change my mind. My train ticket to Georgia lay in my hands and, though we did not say anything, it seemed as though that small slip of paper was the source of the palpable tension in the air. The silence was getting to me but, just as I opened my mouth to say something to him, the train whistle blew, signaling all stragglers to get aboard or else be left behind.

Suddenly, that didn't seem like such a bad option.

Both Chris and I wordlessly got out of the Coupe and, as Chris walked around the front of the car, I opened the back door and grabbed the green Army regulation duffle bag that the New York office had so kindly provided me with. By the time I turned around, Chris was standing in front of me with tears in his eyes. The bag fell out of my hands unconsciously as my arms wrapped around him and I struggled to control myself as I pressed my face into his chest and told myself not to cry.

"You be careful Sammy, you hear me?" I nodded vigorously and pulled away from him, swiping aside the tear that was making its' way down my cheek. I was afraid that if I stayed in his embrace for one more second, I would start bawling my eyes out or declare that I was an idiot for ever thinking I could do this and give up my mission altogether. "Don't play hero over there, okay?" He grabbed me by my shoulders and forced me to stare him straight in the eye. "When things turn south, you run _as fast as you can_. You hear me?"

It was all I could do to nod my head up and down and hope that this affirmation of my understanding would be enough to appease him. And I hoped to the heavens above that he would let go of me before the tears started coming down like an avalanche. For a moment, it was almost as though his eyes found my soul as they scrutinized my face. And then the moment was gone and his hands released my shoulders. Restraining a grateful, shaky sigh, I picked up the bag that had been dropped in the midst of emotion and I swung it over my shoulder, silently begging Chris to not speak another word, lest my feelings run away with themselves again.

"Keep me updated with everything, yeah?" My voice spoke quietly as my eyes avoided Chris' face. I was almost afraid that if I looked at him again, he would lose it. And if he lost it, I would lose it. But even though my gaze stoically eluded his face, I could sense him letting a smile grace his features.

"You know it. Now get out of here; you have a train to catch."

I surrendered myself into his arms for one more split second before I took a glance back at him and started jogging up to the train that would inevitably take me to Georgia.

-oOo-

Five hours into the trip to the basic training facility and I found myself sitting in a window seat, staring out of it at the blurred scenery that sped by. A few fellow paratrooper wannabes chatted with one another nearby. Earlier, there had been some guy that had tried to start up a conversation with me, but I wasn't in the talking mood. I was very quickly coming to regret that decision, seeing as we still had a couple more hours of travelling ahead of us.

I threw another sneaking glance around at the men that I would soon call my compatriots; I saw that some were taking part in a game of poker while others just conversed with their seat mates. Even though I now desperately wanted to have someone to talk to, my mind began to drift and I took this time to wonder how my parents were taking the news that Chris promised to give them after my train left the station. I knew my mom was probably already crying her eyes out while my father would be burying himself in his work so he wouldn't have to think about me in danger, in combat, or winding up somewhere overseas, dead with a few bullets in my chest.

The train whistle blew, jerking me out of my thoughts and signalling another stop to pick up more future paratroopers. With one last look around, I let my eyes slide shut. There were only a few more hours left until arrival. Only a few more hours of freedom before I began training for what would doubtlessly be some of the most important years of my life.

A nap would be good.

-oOo-

"Drill is a very important part of your military career. You will learn how to march correctly and many other things. We are Dog Company; we will be the known as the most vicious soldiers to grace the battlefield, do I make myself clear?"

"Sir yes sir!"

I chanced a glance at all the men around me. Dressed in our PT gear, ready to officially begin boot camp – and this was the first time we were meeting our commanding officer. Some of the enlistees were fidgety; some looked as though they belonged on the makeshift parade square. If we were to judge by our first encounter with him, our First Lieutenant was a stern, formidable man with hardened eyes that you would swear were staring deep into your soul and finding out every single one of your sins.

"First order of business; I like to have at least one person to throw in the towel on the first day so I'm going to push you till hell and back until I get my quitter... and the day won't end until that one person gives in."

At that moment everything changed; we could now feel the impact of our decision to be here. To make it through basic training, we had to stick together and have each others' backs.

"So if none of you _mind_... DROP AND GIVE ME 20!"

We all dropped like flies and got ready for the Lieutenants' count. His commanding voice began and our arms rose and fell in time to his voice like automatic robots programmed to be soldiers. By the tenth push up, my arms were starting to burn. I glanced to the right of me to see the man next to me struggling even more than I was, if that was even possible.

"What the hell is your problem, Private? I've seen little girls do more push ups than you!"

The perpetual screaming continued until we completed the task at hand only until the next one was thrown in our face. My arms felt like rubber and my lungs were already heaving a little too hard.

"That was the most pathetic thing I've ever seen! More pathetic than a man who can't get it up!

_Wouldn't that be a sight to compare._

"Stand at attention! Just because you are winded from _one_ little exercise doesn't mean you can stand at ease unless I say so - and I don't recall saying so!"

He stared us down for a bit after that, his eyes as sharp as a hawk's, hoping to prey on someone and rip them open like a poor, helpless rabbit. Fortunately for us, he didn't find one... or, rather, unfortunately for us, as his voice began belting out commands once more; commands that we were expected to obey on the double. We were at it again.

"Sprint to the obstacle course _now_!"

_Fuck me..._

-oOo-

It became evident very quickly that our CO was going to run us into the ground just to get one of us to break. I had taken a liking to the obstacle course right away; it had concepts that I always cherished growing up. One of them being the thrill of competition and the other just being able to do something the other girls couldn't do. As much as I looked ridiculous high stepping through the maze of rope, a sick part of me enjoyed it immensely. Especially when the men realized they weren't agile enough to successfully cross the obstacle without falling into a tangled mess and letting out a curse in anger.

Just when I thought that I was doing a great with the damn obstacle course, I came face to face with The Wall. The ten foot beast stared at me dauntingly as though it were daring me to just _attempt_ to conquer the behemoth of a structure with my five-foot-three stature.

If that wall could have talked, I believe it would have told me, "We both know you aren't going to get over me. Give up right now. Quit. Quit. Quit."

Suddenly a blow to my shoulder knocked me back to the task at hand. The other guys just took a running start and leapt up and grasped the top of the structure and simply hauled themselves up and over. Sadly this wasn't the case for me; I could only jump and try to reach the ledge in hope of somehow grasping it.

"What is your major malfunction Griffin? Who passed you through medical with your height? Drop and give me twenty, Private!"

I take it back about my liking this – I'd rather be stuck back home having my mother setting me up with scumbags; dealing with idiotic sleazebags is ten times easier than having Lieutenant Matthews screaming in my face every hour of the day and twenty times easier than even _thinking_ about getting over The Wall. At least if those scumbags tried anything, I could kick them where no man liked being kicked. With Lieuteniant Matthews – I could only dream.

Halfway through a push up, I got a glance of another company going through even more shit than what I'd been through so far. Their commanding officer had them in their PT gear, running up a hill that went on for God only knows how long.

"Attention, Private!"

I jumped up to my feet and stood at attention, trying to ignore the beads of sweat that trickled down my face ever so slowly.

"You better not plan on holding this class up again, Private Griffin, or I'll _personally_ make sure you are out of the Airborne and back to whatever shithole you came from. Do I make myself clear?

"Sir yes sir!"

"Company! Attention!"

The sound of thundering footsteps could be heard for miles as the men - and very short woman - of Dog Company fell into formation.

"Private Smith; you're looking rather exhausted, are you going to be my quitter today?"

"No sir!"

"No? Well I think you just bought yourself another trip through the course. Move! Double time it, soldier!"

Private Smith was a pudgy boy who waddled like a penguin when he ran, which sure as hell didn't make matters better for him when he had to run the obstacle course with us all watching him, hoping he would quit so we could get some good rest.

There is something significantly discouraging about an entire company of people standing about, watching you on an obstacle course, hoping you give up.

"Hey Griffin..." a voice from behind me whispered into my ear.

"What?"

"You think Smith is gonna drop?"

"One can only hope..."

Suddenly, Lieutenant Matthews' voice rang out. "Well, Snowflake, looks like you get a one way ticket back to suckle at your mother's breast!"

That clearly answered the man's question. Now if only they would let us sleep...

-oOo-

Lunch was a quick affair - and when I say quick, I mean pushing and shoving to get a morsel of food into your stomach only to throw what was left on your plate into a trash can and run back to the parade square and back into formation.

"Enjoy your lunch?" First Lieutenant Matthews asked as he shovelled some mash potatoes into his mouth. We all muttered a small yes as we spied his food with wanting eyes. "Private Blackburn, what was your favorite part?"

"The bread sir." Blackburn's voice rose up from behind me. That was the same voice that had whispered to me during Smith's failed obstacle run. Blackburn. Whisperer. Got it.

"Hmmm. Yes, the bread is quite good and fluffy today. How about you, Private Griffin? What was _your_ favorite part?"

"The bacon, sir."

"Ah yes! The bacon might just be my favourite part too." He replied ripping off a chunk of bacon and swallowing it greedily.

_I hate you._

-oOo-

After we, the "men" of Dog Company, were sent back to the barracks, I was faced with a problem that I didn't expect to happen so soon; showering and changing in public. Sure, after the trial and tribulation we had just gone through, it was expected. But I clearly wasn't ready and never would be. As the guys around me started gathering their toiletries and change of clothes, I figured it would be in my best interest to hang back and NOT shower at that moment. When the last guy left, I quickly threw off my filthy clothes and cleaned myself as well as I could with what I had around me.

After cleaning with what I had in a very short amount of time, I hurriedly put on my freshly pressed uniform for the afternoon lesson, which was being held in a very small room in one of the low buildings. Walking out of my company barracks, I securely placed my hat on my head and walked to the next meeting area. On the way, I caught view of the same company from before, now standing rigidly at attention while being barraged by their apparently outraged officer.

"Makes you happy we got Matthews, doesn't it?" The same voice as before asked. Blackburn.

"No kidding. He makes Matthews look like my neighbours' terrier." I answered while leaning up against some random companies' barracks cabin. Another voice suddenly spoke up.

"If I had him as my CO, I'd request to go home back to Minnesota. I'm Jackson by the way; Andrew Jackson."

"I have a feeling every single one of those men would already jump at the chance to drop a live grenade at his feet." Blackburn said, lighting up a cigarette and offering one to both Jackson and I.

"I hope he realizes that they just started here and don't have to be drilled like all hell." I replied, putting the given smoke between my lips and luxuriously sucking in a mouthful of fumes.

"Weren't we just getting drilled not even an hour ago?" Jackson argued, attempting to blow smoke in my direction and missing. Blackburn exhaled the smoke through his nose airily.

"Oh, please. That was weak compared to what these unfortunate slobs are getting." I retorted. Blackburn nodded in agreement.

"Whatever floats your boat, Griffin." Jackson said.

Oh, he had gotten clever and gotten my name off of my tag now, had he?

Smartass.

"Let's get going before Matthews puts ours asses in a sling."

"At least we'll get to stare at nurses that way." Both Blackburn and Jackson laughed in unison. I had the overwhelming urge to roll my eyes.

_Oh brother._

-oOo-

It was like I was never left home. At least here, I didn't have some jackass pulling at my hair while the teacher droned on about some useless math equation. No, that was then and this was definitely not then; this was the Airborne. We were being taught how to be disassemble an M1 Garand and then reassemble it. This was something I could listen to forever. Just watching Lieutenant Matthews tear the rifle apart made me think back to times where my father showed my brothers how to do the same thing while I hid out in the background and took in everything being said and stowed it in my mental vault for later. For a brief moment, I wondered how all these guys would take it if they realized that a woman whooped their asses at putting a gun back together.

"Griffin! Is my talking interrupting your daydreams of catching some tail? Say the word and I'll make it a reality." Lieutenant Matthews shouted from the front of the makeshift classroom.

_Oh fuck. I'm dead._

"No sir! Just admiring that fine piece of weaponry that you're holding."

Beside First Lieutenant Matthews stood Lieutenant Speirs, who was studying me with that now-infamous look of his; the one that said absolutely nothing about what he was thinking and yet you still got the idea that he was thinking of all the ways he could kill you. With a rifle, with some gasoline and a Zippo, with a newspaper...

"Fine piece of weaponry, you say?" Matthews barked, a light of triumph gleaming in his eye. I was definitely fucked. "Do you find this weapon attractive, Private?"

All eyes were on me.

_Fuck me._

"Yes, sir."

"Would you like to handle it, Private?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why don't you come on up here and do just that?"

I slowly stood up from my chair, conveniently positioned in the middle of the room. Yet again, I could feel every single pair of eyes burning a hole at the back of my skull. As I walked up to the front of the room, the only thoughts that ran through my head were of my dad disassembling a M1 Garand to clean it and then reassembling it. Once I reached the front of the class, the gun was thrust into my arms by Matthews as he shouted out for Gomez to get into the push up position in front of everyone. "You will remain there until Griffin here can disassemble and reassemble the M1."

I was pretty sure he wanted to embarrass me in front of all the men. Thankfully, that wasn't going to happen on my watch. My father had known far too much about rifles for that to ever happen. My hands began the familiar task; first, the trigger group was first to go, then the butt stock of the rifle was gone. Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see both Lieutenants Matthews and Speirs looking at me with different emotions. Matthews looked like he had eaten something sour... probably didn't like the fact that I was showing him up in front of all of the men. Speirs, on the other hand, was impassive as per usual. But I _thought_ there was something in his eyes that told me he was impressed. I couldn't really tell. Little time had passed before I was cocking the newly put together M1 Garand. Gomez quickly got to his feet and into the position of attention.

Gomez was sent back to his seat. I was still standing in front of my platoon with an M1 in my hands. Matthews roughly grabbed the rifle from my grasp and told me to sit back down. I quickly scurried off back to my seat, only to be silently congratulated for showing up my CO by Blackburn and Smartass Jackson.

-oOo-

Days turned into weeks. I'd pretty much fallen into a routine of waking up before anyone else so I could clean off the grime and sweat from the day before. There were moments when I just wanted to give up and go home or just let my fellow grunts know that I was a young woman and not a man, but that was not a choice that I had. Just as I got along with everyone in my platoon, I also seemed to have gained an enemy in Easy Company. While both companies wanted to rip each others' throats out at any chance they got, it all had a start. Not just from natural rivalry or because we got to go to town much more than they did, but an actual start.

Here's how it went.

"Howdy, boys."

We were on a weekend pass, hitting up the town, which boasted absolutely no entertainment for the soldier-trainees they were so hospitably training. So there we were, sitting in the only bar in the town, shuffling cards. Blackburn, Jackson, and I had gone straight there, of course, by this time knowing the layout of the town and acquainted with the knowledge that there really was nothing else to do in the town. But the Easy boys, on one of their very rare weekend passes, had not yet wised up to this idea and were just now arriving, griping about the quietness of the streets.

"Fancy a few hands of poker?" I ask them, offering entertainment. It is my nature, you see, to help those in need.

"Fuck yeah," one of them, a short man with dark skin and dark eyes, says.

"I dunno," says another with an angular chin, his speech very pronouncedly accented. "We wouldn't want you boys to embarrass yourselves by losing, now, would we?" He chuckled. I had the oddest feeling it was not at his own expense but at ours, the naive trainees of Dog Company who had innocently invited them to play poker.

"Oh, I don't think there's any worry of that," I reply, attempting to act as though I had no idea that this man had just flat-out told me he was going to beat our asses at this game. He might attempt cheating if Lady Luck didn't float his way and it was best if he didn't think I was onto him.

"Well," says another man with red hair and an easy smile, interrupting the silence that had stretched on for a few seconds as we all just stared at each other and tried to figure out if they would cheat. "Don Malarkey," he pointed to himself and then at the short man with the dark eyes, "Frank Perconte," his finger pointed towards the man with the strong accent and the angular jaw, "Bill Guarnere. Anyone else playing, boys?" The other men standing around shook their heads.

I took the initiative and introduced Blackburn, Jackson, and myself. I caught Malarkey staring at my face, as though there were something sitting not quite right with him, but I paid him no mind. If the stories were true, no one in Easy Company was quite right in the brain.

Without much further ado, we settled down to play cards. Everything was fine and dandy for a few hands. Everyone lost some, everyone won some. Guarnere had an itchy back and Perconte had a coughing problem. I finally decided I was thirsty, told Jackson to deal me out of the next hand and I went to go get myself a beer. By the time I came back, the hand was full underway, with three cards on the table and the fourth one coming, being laid down by Jackson's left hand, which was a bit odd, since he was right-handed.

I was nearing the table, my footsteps quiet, walking behind Guarnere. But my eyes caught something; a slip of white visible between the cracks of the wooden chair Guarnere was sitting in. It was a card; the ace of hearts, to be exact. He reached up to 'scratch his back' once again, his fingers reaching for the ace, leaning forward ever so slightly to allow himself to reach it. But I got there first, my fingers capturing the card and holding it up.

"He's cheating!" I exclaim. Everyone stood up simultaneously except for Malarkey; Perconte and Guarnere looked angry and about ready to fight. Blackburn and Jackson menacingly started around the table to face off with the two men from Easy Company. But then Jackson lowered his right arm down to his side from where it had been lying even at his waist. And there was a flutter of something as it fell from Jackson's sleeve. Guarnere pounced on it and held up the ace of spades.

From then on, it was pandemonium. Fists flew, drinks were spilled, and I ended up on my ass along with four other men just because I had not joined the fight and had therefore been caught up in the scuffle and had the busted lip to prove it. We brushed ourselves off and glared at each other menacingly.

It was a hate relationship after that.

But it was the next weekend that had some importance.

"Ah, Easy Company! Hey, while you're running don't worry; we'll take care of your dates for you!" Brian Spliner yelled out from beside me. I let out a chuckle along the rest of the platoon, but not even a second later, one of the skinny guys from Easy responded back.

"Yeah that's good, they need some female company!"

Ironically, they didn't know how close they were to the truth to a certain degree. Before any of us had a chance to reply with our own halfass attempts at being witty, the men from Easy Company were running past us and knocking off the tan wedges from atop of our heads. When I felt the wedge on top of my head being assaulted, I acted on instinct and kicked out my left leg and successfully tripped the hat assaulter.

It was at the moment when everything changed; my mismatched irises locked with his big brown eyes and I felt my cheeks heat up.

He quickly scampered off after his platoon, not even glancing back, and there I was... standing in place with my eyes locked on his fleeing backside.

* * *

**So what did you guys think? The end is a twist BUT it'll all make sure soon; I promise! Don't when the third chapter will be up seeing as it isn't beta'd yet (my beta started school again).**

**_Favourite it. Alert it. Review it._  
**


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